It’s probably the best feeling in the world when your 20-something son says, “Hey Mum, have a hug! You are great! You are so kind and self-less – and beautiful! And you’re my mum!” It’s even sweeter when the young man in question has just been through radiotherapy for brain cancer. “Mum, thank you. You have made all this bearable.” Yes, those words mean something when they come out of a journey of hearts that have passed through fire… but perhaps that very journey is what has caused the words to be spoken at all.

I’ve been carrying him for so long.  He’s far too heavy of course… I guess it’s what mothers do. But I have had to learn to put him down, let go, let him handle it his own way; I have had to develop emotional detachment, for both of our sakes. So now we seem to have reached an ‘entente cordial’, living our own lives and struggles in parallel. He has his freedom and as his little nuclear family we try our best to keep him happy. None of us know how long we’ve got – but he’s pretty well at the moment.

Its quite uncomfortable that now the focus has shifted round to what all this has done to me. The reactive depression has kicked in, with its accompanying negativity and loss of energy.  It’s pretty tough to treat when you can’t remove the cause. My hope does go beyond all of this – the certainty of love and redemption in the end – but nevertheless, all the stress and uncertainty do take their physical and emotional toll. The sleepless nights are the worst.

The second worst is that awful feeling when I walk along the street, or even into a room full of acquaintances, that I have a huge (invisible) sign around my neck, “My son has cancer!” It’s like a leper’s bell… for those who are in the know can’t help but pity me. Its become part of my identity now, an inescapable shadow: I can’t be seen without it. How dark that shadow is depends upon the individual’s response – of fear, horror, curiosity, compassion or indifference. No-one knows what to say anyway and many just back away, as from the unclean leper. However, if some well-meaning person asks me once more, “How’s Sam?” I think I’ll scream! I’m just so weary of repeating the same sentences, while I keep my angry heart hidden safely away behind the fear of rejection… These poor friends are in a ‘lose-lose’ situation! But all I want is love.

And all those people who don’t know anything about it – they can’t win either. How can they not know?!! The inner rage cries out at ignorance and people just getting on with their own lives in the face of this tragedy that has ripped our world apart! But I stay mute, preserving them in their peace of mind, refusing to share my burden; they are given no chance to offer sympathy as I hide my pain away. This extrovert has introverted and I seek solitude now… But all I want is love.

Love knows me, cares for me, sees me in my sufferings, honours my bravery, holds me when I cry – is honest. Only a few friends have been willing to walk close enough to listen, to actually feel our pain and share our tears. Surely no-one would love enough to offer to change places if they could, would they?! That old ‘what if it was our family’ question must be in many people’s minds…

But anyway, thank God for the few, and for the strength we have found to keep going through all this. The fire has burnt away so much superficiality and revealed the gold beneath - maybe that’s why my son’s heartfelt words mean so much, so generously given, out of his own courageous journey in the face of death. So I respond in kind, “Sam, you’re great! You’re such a special person! You’re brave and clever and big-hearted – and unique! And you’re my son!”

Thank you for giving me love.

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